


Cold Feet

by CuriousThimble



Series: Cold Hands, Warm Heart [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anora Mac Tir - Freeform, Dragon Age - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Grey Wardens, King Alistair, POV Female Character, Post-Blight, Post-Break Up, Warden Amell - Freeform, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble
Summary: The night before Anora is to wed the newly crowned King Alistair, she is startled to receive a visit from Alistair's former lover, the Hero of Ferelden.





	Cold Feet

The last person Anora expected to knock on her door was the woman standing in front of her. She’d stayed up late, thinking about her late husband and the fact that she was about to marry his brother, so when the knock sounded it had startled her so much she nearly cried out.

 

The first thing she notices is that Warden Amell always looks put together- not a strand of black hair out of place, her clothing impeccable and free of wrinkles. She looks exactly like a Circle Mage should- restrained, calm, and solemn. She’s also  _ stunning _ . That is surprising enough for someone powerful enough to destroy an archdemon, but considering the late hour and lack of sleep they’ve all been dealing with, it’s enough to make Anora a little jealous.

 

“Can I help you, Warden Amell?” she asks, standing back and letting her enter. “Forgive me, I don’t recall your first name.”

 

Silver eyes settle on her, and if Anora were superstitious, she’d admit to the chill that runs down her spine. “My name is Evette,” she says, her eyes moving to look around the room. “You may call me Warden Amell.”

 

“Very well,” Anora says, and offers her a chair. “May I offer you some wine?”

 

“Water, please.”

 

Curious, she pours it herself, having sent her maid to bed hours before. Once she’s seated across from the Warden, they study one another in silence before she finally breaks it. “I appreciate your support in the Landsmeet. I will admit, I did not expect you to actually lend me your voice.”

 

“I said I would.”

 

“You...also convinced Alistair to marry me,” Anora says softly, looking down into her cup. “I also didn’t expect that. I know that the two of you are lovers.”

 

Evette Amell is silent for a while, and Anora looks up to see the cup she’s holding covered in a thin layer of frost. Eyes wide, she looks up into the warden’s eyes, fear tightening her chest.  _ Did she come to kill me? _

 

“We are  _ not _ lovers,” Warden Amell says coldly. “Not anymore.”

 

“I see.” Anora relaxes again, sitting back. “Did he break it off with you, then? Is that why you’ve come?”

 

“ _ I _ ended it. He wanted me to be his mistress, and I said no.”

 

Anora shakes her head, brows knitting together. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.  _ I  _ don’t care if you and he stay together, so long as you’re discreet- we discussed it before the Landsmeet.”

 

“I’m aware of your feelings.”

 

“Forgive me, Warden Amell,” Anora says with a sigh, and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Why are you here, if not to tell me you intend to stay?”

 

For a moment, the fierce Grey Warden looks as if she might show some humanity. Her sharp features soften, and her lower lip almost trembles.  _ She’s barely a woman, _ Anora realizes, watching her put her cup of water down and knot her fingers in her lap.  _ She can’t be more than twenty, surely. _ The moment passes, and Amell looks distant and frosty once more.

 

“I came to tell you about Alistair, since you’re marrying him tomorrow.”

 

“Alistair?” she asks, taken aback. “What about him?”

 

“He likes the left side of the bed,” she says slowly, looking down at her hands. “You’ll never get him to move once he’s asleep. He steals the blankets. Enjoys making love in the mornings.”

 

_ She really is leaving him, otherwise she’d never tell me such things. _ “I don’t really care what he likes,” Anora tells her with a careless shrug. “We will not be sharing a room.”

 

“You have to conceive.”

 

“Magic cannot help with that. Neither will sleeping on the right side of the bed.”

 

Warden Amell nods and stands. “Be kind to him, Anora,” she says, her facade breaking once more and letting Anora see a young, broken hearted woman. “If you are kind to him, he will learn to love you.”

 

“I don’t need or want his love, Warden Amell,” Anora says firmly. “I loved my husband.”

 

The air in the room grows chill, and frost blooms on the stone floor around her feet. “I am not asking for you to  _ love _ him,” she says, power and ice in her voice. It echos oddly, reminding Anora of when she was a girl in Gwaren and had found a small cave with ice on the walls. “I have done that, and it lead only to an end. I only ask that you are kind to him.”

 

Anora smirks. “And what will you do if I am not?”

 

The frost retracts, and the air in the room returns to it’s pleasant warmth. “Nothing, of course,” Warden Amell says lightly. “I won’t even know if you are or not.”

 

“And why is that?”

 

“I am leaving for Kinloch Hold tonight.”

 

Anora gawkes at her. “I-I was not expecting that.”

 

Warden Amell smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Neither did I. Felicitations on your marriage.”

 

Anora watches her leave, speechless.  _ I don’t suppose anyone could understand that woman, _ she thinks.  _ What happens to you, once you’ve killed an archdemon? Are you touched by the evil inside it, or has she always been so cold? _

 

She gets to her feet and slowly walks over to the dressmaker’s dummy in the corner. Silk and lace gleam in the firelight, tiny crystals shimmering across the bust. Softly, she fingers the delicate veil, remembering another wedding years before, and tears fill her eyes.

 

_ I loved Cailan, in my way. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel the same way for his brother, it’s all too strange and too soon. What sort of husband will Alistair be? The Warden seems to think he’s gentle and sweet, but I have seen very little of that in him. He certainly isn’t the soft, cheerful young man I’ve been told about...the Blight changed him, made him harder and angrier. At what? The world? The Maker? _

 

_ What kind of wife can I be to him? I don’t know him, and I don’t know if I can even give him an heir. I’m a traitor’s daughter, this marriage is the only thing saving me from ruin. Oh, how the haughty have fallen… _

 

She blinks, tears slipping down her pale cheeks, and looks at the painting of Cailan and herself hanging over the fireplace. She’d worn another wedding gown then, had  _ wanted _ that marriage, advantageous and arranged as it was. She can hear his voice now, laughing at her the same way he’d laughed the night before their wedding, when she’d snuck out and gone to his room to see him.

 

_ “Cold feet, Anora? That’s unlike you.” _

 

_ Cailan, I wish you were here, and I could hear your stupid laugh again. _


End file.
